


Silk Roses

by potentiality_26



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Episode Related, First Time, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> At this point, Jim should have anticipated that things would go wrong as matter of course the moment he took the decision to bait Artie about Ms. Tyler, but sometimes his reason took a long time to catch up with the rest of him.</em>
</p><p>After 'The Night of the Running Death,' coin tosses are won and lost, Artie puts away a persona, and Jim puts on a dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk Roses

**Author's Note:**

> In case you don't know 'The Night of the Running Death' off the top of your head, it's the one where Jim and Artie are part of a wagon train headed to Denver and trying to figure out which of their traveling companions is an assassin. In it, Artie pretends to be a _very_ swish actor named Kingston and insists up and down that he can pick someone in a wig and makeup out in any crowd- despite the fact that the middle-aged British woman in their midst is actually the man they're looking for. 
> 
> This started out as my effort to reconcile myself with that, and it sort of went its own way from there. The episode also has an odd sort of double ending. This story is set around the first and before the second. Given that it clocks in at almost 15,000 words, it really is pretty low on plot. Apologies.

Jim dropped his gun belt somewhere in the parlor and heard it clatter on wood- a desk or a shelf and not the floor, he thought; some habits were ingrained and he was fairly sure taking care of his weapon was one of them.  If he was wrong, he’d put it in its place later.  For the moment, he shouldered into the next compartment and through Artie’s lab without once looking back.

“You should change,” Artie called out behind him.  “Dinner with royalty and all that.”

Jim replied- he thought- tossing an agreement or at least an affirmative grunt over his shoulder.  He could’ve been wrong about that too; it could’ve been an obscenity.  Jim was too distracted to know for sure.  Honestly, he was too distracted to care.

Artie was driving him crazy.

Long before he actually reached the sleeping compartment, Jim’s fingers began pulling at the upper laces of his chaps- just enough to undo his trousers without removing them.  He was panting and swearing silently to himself as he slid open the door, closed it behind him, and leaned against it, trying to suck in a proper breath.  It felt as though he could never fill his lungs anymore.

He locked the door behind him- a plaintive request for privacy and little more when cohabitating with someone like Artemus Gordon- then, without having actively processed the decision, unlocked it again.  Artie was sure to be occupied, making note of Kingston in his book of aliases- putting him away in his particular ritualistic manner.

Jim had a ritual of his own.

He unlaced his smallclothes and let out a sigh as the pressure was relieved at last.  He drew out his cock and squeezed lightly, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

When Jim opened them again, he could picture _him_ already sitting on the bed.  No- not sitting.  Lounging.  Jim’s might not be the most comfortable bed in the country, but after so long on the trail it was luxury itself- and this man was just enough of a hedonist to be stretching and sprawling like the self-satisfied cat he was.  A wagon train was no place to indulge in life’s pleasures- not soft pillows or smooth sheets, not a glass of fine wine or plate of good food.  Now that it was over, though, Jim would treat this man to all of them- and to one thing sweeter still.

And he would have ideas of his own, propping himself up when he saw Jim and flicking out his tongue to moisten his full lower lip.  “Well, well, well,” Kingston would drawl.  “I’ve never sucked a secret service agent before.”

Jim groaned softly and squeezed himself again.  He was already leaking at the slit; he passed his thumb over the tip and rubbed the milky liquid over his fingers and palm.  It wasn’t much, but it made the progress of his hand a little smoother.  Kingston talked a little too much when he was nervous or trying to impress.  In the bedroom, he’d be neither of those things.  He’d be languid and self-assured- and filthy.

“And if I’d known you had this kind of… accommodation I might’ve come a bit more willingly.”  He would hold up his hands, manacled together.

Jim was a little surprised by the turn his mind had taken, but he supposed it fit.  He’d been teased entirely too much- and for entirely too long- to take ‘no’ for answer now, and it would obviously have been a token protest.  When Kingston said _accommodation_ he wouldn’t even bother to feign a glance around the room; he’d be looking right at Jim’s cock. 

When Kingston licked his lips again it would be purely for show.  “C’mere,” he’d murmur, and Jim would obey, producing the key that unlocked the manacles.  He’d pass a thumb over the other man’s wrists, but they wouldn’t be bruised or chafed.  Jim had imagined those wrists that way before, but Jim fancied that Kingston would know how to wear manacles- and he wouldn’t have struggled, because how desperate for him Jim was would arouse him. 

Pressing a kiss to the inside of Kingston’s wrist, Jim would inhale and smell dust and fancy aftershave- and, under it… Artie.  Jim stopped that thought short.

Kingston would loop his fingers around the chaps and draw Jim toward him.  They would kiss, Jim’s cock rubbing against the other man’s through those hideous plaid trousers.  When Jim broke the kiss to groan Kingston would grin crookedly and drop to his knees, swallowing Jim whole in a single practiced motion.

Jim’s grip on his cock tightened.  He sped up as he imagined being wrapped in that wet heat instead of his own fist, imagined carding his fingers through that curly black hair.

“Just _look_ at you,” came the sigh.  Kingston shouldn’t-wouldn’t- have been able to talk; his mouth was well and truly full.  But the voice came from somewhere behind Jim and it was the wrong voice.  It was _Artie’s_ voice- and even in Jim’s own fantasies Artie could always be depended upon to break the rules.  “Never fucked a secret service agent before, either.”

Jim nodded weakly and reached for the bedside table.  A long time ago, Jim stole some of the cream his partner used as a base for makeup.  It had a strong, grassy aroma that Artie had to cover with other scents, but Jim had always been able to detect it.  Kingston was gone now; he’d melted away like so much smoke the moment Jim heard Artie’s voice- but Jim had smelled that cream on him, too.  It was around then that he’d begun to lose what control he’d had over the fantasy.  Jim pulled out the jar and smoothed the cream over his shaking fingers. 

Jim was close to the edge and felt like he had been for an age; he just wanted to get this over with so he could change clothes, go back into the parlor and pretend that everything was fine.  But even in his own mind Jim was completely in thrall to his partner; now that he was here, Jim wouldn’t come until Artie said he could.

His slick fingers slid easily over his cock now, but he knew that wasn’t what Artie meant when he heard him say, “I want to see you touch yourself.”  Jim obeyed helplessly, pulling his trousers down enough to slide two fingers in his ass.  The stretch burned briefly and then it just ached- an ache that was as sweet as it was painful.

Most people wouldn’t believe it to talk to him, but Jim had a vivid imagination- vivid enough to betray him frequently.  This time, though contrary to his original intentions, it was giving him exactly what he needed.  With time enough to really lose himself in the fantasy, Jim could make himself believe Artie was really fucking him- but he was too frustrated to manage it how.  But Jim had an unlocked door, and if he closed his eyes and focused he could make himself believe that Artemus had walked in and found him.  And liked what he saw.

Jim moved to three fingers and pushed them as deep as he could, wrist protesting.  He sank his teeth into his lip to keep quiet; the feeling of being filled gave an edge to every stroke of his hand over his cock and brought him close to a climax with stunning rapidity.  Jim could feel Artie’s dark eyes on him- feel their hunger.  “My beautiful boy,” he imagined he could hear Artie growl.  

Jim’s teeth went deeper, drew blood.  He sobbed and pressed his face into his pillow.  “Artie…” he begged, not sure what he was begging for.

“Come for me, Jim,” he heard Artie say.  He could swear he felt Artie’s breath- hot and moist- against his ear. 

Jim’s hand jerked roughly over his cock twice more and then he felt himself tighten around his own fingers.  Jim came hard, choking, “Artie!” into his pillow.

Jim lay shaking for several moments, and then he pulled himself up, drawing in a breath through his nose that was wet.  His face too was wet, but he refused to allow even in his own mind that he might have been crying.  If he strained, he could hear the real Artie moving around his lab.  He didn’t feel any better- he rarely did these days- but at least he wasn’t hard anymore.

He cleaned himself up and dressed for dinner. 

*   *   *

After the princess left, the post-mission silence should have been a comfortable one. 

Jim sat at the recently cleared table playing solitaire with his new deck; Artie was lying on the couch with a stack of papers and a book propped on his knees- making notes to wrap up the case.  It was like a million other such silences- but tonight there was a thread of tension between Artie and himself which Jim thought even an outsider would notice.  He wondered if the princess had, and had excused herself early for that reason.

Jim had chosen his place at the table well- or badly, depending on how one looked at it.  He could turn his head casually and see his partner reflected back in the window to his left, and so observe him while seemingly absorbed in his game.  His pulse quickened as his eyes ran over the line of Artie’s broad shoulders in the lamplight.  His trousers felt tight when Artie growled and crossed something out, the sound bringing the memory of Jim’s earlier fantasy to the fore.  He was becoming aroused, and that always put something in the air that Jim knew Artie detected and didn’t understand.

But this time it wasn’t just Jim breaking the thin illusion of normalcy.

Artie had his pen in one hand and a glass in the other, and he lifted it from the little table beside the couch and took a sip after roughly every other line.  This in itself wasn’t particularly odd- Artie was an enthusiastic drinker and he claimed that a little of the good stuff always made reports go down easier.

Unless Jim was mistaken, though, Artie was drinking more than usual.  At the rate he was going, he’d be drunk by the time he was finished.

Artie shifted on the couch and then stood up.  Jim placed his eyes firmly on the cards and noticed for the first time that- even though he’d kept barely a quarter of his attention on the game- he was very close to winning.  Maybe there was something to this lucky deck business after all, Jim thought as Artie leaned over him to retrieve something from the shelf behind him.  Jim caught a whiff of his sharp, spicy scent and under it the lotion he hadn’t completely washed off yet and felt himself harden further.  His breath hitched and Artie walked away and returned to his seat, noticing nothing.

Jim was relieved and frustrated in equal parts.  What Artie didn’t see required no explanation.  What Artie didn’t see could never come to anything.  And Jim- Jim _wanted_ , fiercely and constantly and deeply enough to drive him a little bit mad. 

“About Enzo,” Jim said, to say something.  “Whatever happened to _knowing_ putty noses and fake hair?”

The scratching of Artie’s pen stopped, but for a moment he didn’t speak.  Then: “To be fair, there was no putty nose.”

Jim peered at his partner’s reflection, cards frozen in one hand.  Artie was looking at his report; his tone was mild and off-handed- but the set of his mouth was all wrong, and so was the line of his shoulders.  Jim had touched a nerve he hadn’t even known was there.  This happened time and again with Artie.  Once, Jim would’ve left it at that.  Once, he would’ve stopped himself from scratching that scab.  “True enough,” he said, which was fine.  But then he pushed.  “But still.”  

Artie sighed.  “Yes.  I wondered when you’d get to that.”

His tone was wry, even sad.  Jim felt… cruel to have brought it up- even more so knowing that he’d done so only to conceal the mistakes he’d himself made on their journey to Denver.  When Jim first admitted to himself how he felt about Artie- long ago now- he’d promised himself that it would never endanger their partnership.  Every day since, he’d been breaking that promise a little at a time.  In the last few months, things had gotten worse and worse, their once easy friendship deteriorating.

At this point, Jim should have anticipated that things would go wrong as matter of course the moment he took the decision to bait Artie about Ms. Tyler, but sometimes his reason took a long time to catch up with the rest of him.  By time it did, he was always already in too deep.  There was a time when he and Artie had needled each other without it turning malicious, but that time was long past.  Games and bets inevitably turned sour, jokes became quarrels became bitter fighting, and the only time Jim felt he could talk easily with Artie anymore was when he was pretending to be someone else.   

Artie tried new disguises out on Jim in public places.  He liked to see how they worked on strangers in a casual setting before he brought them out in a matter of life and death.  He liked to keep Jim on his toes- sidling up to him in a saloon or a barber shop as a complete stranger, or some old friend or enemy whose history with Jim was produced completely off the cuff.  Just as intrinsic to their survival as Artie’s acting skills was Jim’s ability to react to Artie under Artie’s terms instantaneously.

It was Artie’s habit to exercise these muscles in both of them, generally without warning.  The first few times he tried it, Jim wasn’t happy- but he'd learned to appreciate the practice.  It was a valid reason to put up with it, and it was the one he gave Artie when the other man asked him about his new attitude- but it wasn’t the only one.  Artie didn’t like to talk about the things he did in character when he was himself again, and Jim had accordingly begun to see these encounters as somehow anonymous. Jim had learned to see just the disguise: mark the lines of a false nose or the smell of grease paint and that lotion, identify Artie, and then forget about him entirely- reacting only to the person he was supposed to see.

And Kingston- Jim missed him almost as much as he resented him.  For days he had teased Jim with all the hallmarks of inversion, flirted shamelessly with him and given every indication of loving it when Jim flirted back.  He wasn’t the sort of man who normally attracted Jim- not that anyone but Artie had truly attracted Jim in a long time- but if he’d been real there would have been no question that when they got to Denver they would have finally shared everything that had been so obviously on offer on the trail.

Earlier that evening hadn’t been the first time Jim had imagined such a thing.  When they first became partners, Jim had refused to touch himself at all with Artie in mind- but as he grew more desperate Artie’s disguises had become fair game.  It was satisfying in its way; each man begged an utterly kind of seduction- sometimes the kind that wasn’t a seduction at all- but sooner or later the real Artie would always start to muscle in and Jim would have to admit to himself that- whatever effect those imagined men had on him- it was Artie and Artie alone he really wanted.

Eyes still on his partner’s reflection, Jim lowered a hand and pushed the heel of his palm to his cock, hoping to relieve the pressure and nothing more. 

Artie spoke again: “The fact is, I let certain… assumptions blind me.”

The rumbling of his voice as he spoke did things to Jim, and he found the hand between his legs rubbing, as carefully and silently as possible.  A noise welled up in Jim’s throat; whether it was a groan of pleasure or shame he couldn’t say- probably, it was both- but he choked it down and bit his lip, again, harder, to keep anything else from emerging.  He cursed himself, wondering what had happened to his once faultless self-control.  An undisguised Enzo could probably have walked right past him on that God-forsaken trip and he wouldn’t have even noticed.  After all, look at him now.

He was massaging himself, moving as little as possible, watching Artie like a hawk for any sign that he knew what Jim was doing- unsure what he would do if he detected such a sign. 

Artie was smart, and Jim’s once immaculately concealed attraction to the man was like a fire in his blood, painfully obvious; from where he sat only a few feet away, Artie should have been able to feel the heat.

Biting back another groan, Jim removed his hand, clenching it at his side to keep from returning it to his painful erection. 

“I assumed Ms. Tyler was harmless,” Artie was saying.  “And thought it best not to dig further, and as a result you and the princess were put in very real danger.  I feel…” Artie sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “It’s difficult to articulate how I feel.”

Jim knew that what he’d said was turning into an accusation without his fully intending it to, and that he should try to take it back, or at least take the sting out of it- but then what Artie had said finally bypassed Jim’s arousal and caught up with his higher brain functions.  Artie hadn’t said he assumed Enzo, being a man, would’ve been dressed as one and therefore ignored Ms. Tyler as Jim had done- he said he’d _assumed Ms. Tyler was harmless_. 

That was when it came- the moment where things went wrong as a matter of course.

“You ‘assumed she was harmless.’  What does that mean?”  

Artie shrugged, still at looking at his report and not at Jim.  “I wasn’t… completely taken in by the disguise,” he admitted.  “I knew- or perhaps suspected is closer to the truth- that Ms. Tyler was not… strictly female.”

“And you didn’t think it worth sharing with me, Artie?”

“Believe me, Jim- nothing you say will make me feel worse about it than I already do.”  With that, Artie threw back the remaining contents of his glass and went to the sideboard to refill it.  Jim turned in his chair so he could properly watch him go.  “People _died_.  And it could’ve been worse.  For the princess and for you.”

“We both made mistakes,” Jim said, voice tight.  “Let’s leave it at that.”

He hoped Artie would take that for the out it was, but instead Artie replied, “That benediction is not as comforting as you might suppose.”  

“Maybe I could be more comforting if I knew why you did it.”  Jim’s tone was more waspish than he would have liked.  Anger was creeping up on him, unfortunately _not_ bypassing his arousal so much as entwining with it.  When Artie wanted a fight it was hard for Jim not to give him one.  When Artie thought he’d done something wrong, he liked the accusations to fly.  And Jim- he didn’t know why Artie did what he did, but he already knew he didn’t blame Artie for it.  But when his partner got it into his head to bait Jim, he never failed- especially not these days.  Jim ached for Artie all the more when they were fighting.  Imagining Artie bending him over a desk or chest of drawers, growling something in his ear about teaching him a lesson, possessing him, leaving bruises all over him, never failed to make Jim hard in a heartbeat.  Imagining doing the same to Artie wasn’t any better.

“It wasn’t the first time.”  Artie poured himself another drink, but he didn’t sit down again once he had it; he began to pace by the windows instead.

“Wasn’t the first time what?”

“The first time we met a woman who… wasn’t.”  Artie finally, _finally_ glanced Jim’s way.  Jim’s expression was relatively clear, annoyed puzzlement having briefly replaced lust as his primary emotion.  Whatever Artie saw, it made him chuckle somewhat bitterly.  “I suppose it was a way for Enzo to get west without anyone suspecting him, but that isn’t always the case.”

Jim tried to keep as much judgment as possible out of his tone when he said, “You thought he was just a man who simply… liked to dress as a woman?” 

That such men existed wasn’t news to Jim.  He didn’t understand such men- or the men who desired them.  He found women attractive, it was true, but when he went looking for a man it was a _man_ he wanted.  He wanted a deep voice and a strong, solid body; wanted someone he didn’t have to be gentle with; someone who could hold him down; to whom he could cede control and trust enough to know it wouldn’t be abused except in a way that made them both feel very, very good.

And then Artie showed up to rescue Jim peddling brandy and wearing a skirt.  After the third or fourth time he imagined hiking that skirt around Artie’s waist and fucking him hard, Jim had to admit to himself that maybe it wasn’t all that simple.  Artie was and could be all the things Jim had ever dreamed of finding in a man, and Jim saw traces of it no matter who or what he was pretending to be- and he wanted Artie in every conceivable way.

“Yes,” Artie replied.  “Some men even feel…”

“What?” Jim prompted, feeling weary.  He almost dropped the innocent act; at the very least, it might bring Artie up short to know he didn’t understand Jim as well as he thought.

“That they should have _been_ women.  I thought that Ms. Tyler might be such a person, and I let my… personal feelings on the subject get in the way of doing my job.  I didn’t want to make things any more difficult for… _her_ than they doubtless already were, and I almost got you killed.”

This wasn’t news to Jim either; not the part about men who felt that they were women in men’s bodies, and not the part about him almost getting killed.  It was the part about Artie’s personal stake in the matter that was tripping him up.  What could _Artie_ have tied up in the idea?  “ _You_ don’t-” Jim started.

Knowing the end of that sentence before even Jim completely did, Artie snorted.  “No, James- of _course_ I don’t feel that way.  But I’ve had… friends.  Good friends.  It isn’t something I ever wanted to discuss with you because-”

“You feared my opinions wouldn’t be complimentary.”  Jim hated the implication.  The fact that such men existed and Artie had been friends with them didn’t trouble Jim in the slightest- but he wasn’t supposed to think so.  He could see what he was supposed to think reflected back at him in every line of Artie’s posture and he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t afford to fight it.

He sometimes suspected that the main reason his attraction to Artie had remained secret for so long was that Artie did indeed let assumptions blind him, far too often.  He had believed from the very start that Jim was innocent in so many things, and had stubbornly continued to believe it ever since.  If, for instance, Jim spent every possible moment half-dressed while they were alone on the train together, it was because it had never occurred to him that this might provoke a sexual response rather than because he hoped desperately that it _would_.

He chafed under the shape Artie was trying to force him into.  He wasn’t the actor Artemus was, but he’d done a decent impression of a platonic friend thus far.  Now, though- now they were having a conversation unlike any they’d had before.  Before they had joked.  Before it hadn’t felt like Jim was sticking a finger in an open wound and twisting it around.  He didn’t know how the platonic friend- the platonic, innocent-to-the-ways-of-the-deviant-and-not-at-all-deviant-himself friend- was supposed to react to this.

His only recourse was to act the way Artie expected him to act.  But Artie clearly expected him to be a bigot.  Jim resented his partner for pushing him into those shoes, even knowing perfectly well that Artie didn’t know he was doing any such thing.

Artie wasn’t the only one who’d had friends who’d been mistreated. 

Even in profile, Jim could see Artie nod jerkily.  When he spoke, his voice was dark.  “All this trouble because of a conversation I didn’t want to have with you.”

Jim could hear in his tone all the reasons Artie had needed a drink or five to whitewash all that enough to put it in his report.  Jim could see why Artie felt guilty; if he had the faintest idea what he had done or said to make Artie that desperate to avoid the topic with him, he might even feel guilty about it too.  It was all Jim wanted, to say something to smooth things over.  Once he did that, once he was sure things were all right between them- or, at least, what now passed for all right between them- he could go to bed and take care of his recurring… problem.  But Jim simply didn’t have any idea what to say to his partner.  Finally, he admitted it.  “I don’t know what to say.”

Artie shrugged.  “You don’t have to say anything, Jim.”

It occurred to Jim that he’d been sitting at the table barely a few feet away from his partner, as blatantly aroused as he could be- and they’d been talking about the mission as if nothing was wrong.  There had been nights when he’d pushed his fingers inside himself with only a few feet from where his partner slept as he imagined Artie moving inside him, or wrapped his hand tight around his cock and pictured it buried in his partner’s body- all the while terrified Artie would wake and work out what he was doing, but fantasizing at the same time that Artie _would_ wake and take him up on what was so obviously on offer.

But Artie never noticed.

Or- Jim asked himself suddenly, horribly- didn’t he?  Artie could read people in the blink of an eye.  He wasn’t infallible- the whole incident with Enzo proved that- but Jim was being horribly obvious.  Either Artie’s assumptions about Jim were stronger even than Jim had thought, or Artie wasn’t blind to it at all.  He was simply ignoring what he saw, avoiding yet another conversation that he didn’t want to have with Jim. 

But Jim wanted to force a conversation, force a confrontation, make Artie admit he knew how Jim craved him and explain what he planned to do about it.  It was the last thing he wanted, to drive Artie away, but it was like he couldn’t help himself anymore.  If Artie intended to ignore how Jim felt for the rest of their lives, Jim thought he deserved for the man to at least say it to his face.  

When Jim emerged from his thoughts, Artie was back on the couch with his report, a newly filled glass at his elbow, the pen in his hand scratching away. “I want you to tell me about it,” Jim blurted. 

“What?” Artie didn’t look up from his report.

“How a man makes himself look enough like a woman to fool another man.”

It was fairly safe to say that Jim had no idea what he was doing.  Popular rumors of what actors got up to aside, he’d never in their entire friendship heard Artie say anything whatsoever about men who did anything but wear pants and love women until now.  That conversation- and Jim’s supposed inability believe that anything of the kind ever happened- was all Jim had. 

He wanted to rock the boat, change the status quo, and this was the only way he could think of to do it.

Artie still didn’t look up.  “And how exactly would you like me to do that?” he asked.  His tone was mild, but with a sharp edge.  The proposition clearly had an effect on Artie.  Jim kept pushing.

“I know you’ve done it before.  I remember when you did.”

“I wouldn’t say I was especially convincing.”

Jim knew for a fact that he had been.  Maybe not a beautiful woman- maybe not a feminine one- but no one at the fort had questioned it. No one would’ve tried.  He said, “Maybe not,” all the same.  “But you understand the… mechanism involved.”

“I still don’t know what you want.”  Artie’s pen never stopped scratching.

In lieu of explaining it to his partner- or maybe _to_ explain it- Jim changed the subject slightly and asked, “Do you still have it?”

“Still have what?”

“That dress.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I have several.  There’s nothing worse than having to shop for a dress on a time table- especially when _your_ neck is on the line, James.”  It was obviously a joke, and Jim laughed even though Artie’s voice was tight and neither of them was in a light mood.  “Why are you asking?” 

“I’d like to know more about it, should I ever need to identify such a person in the future.  How can a man look like a woman?”

A silence followed Jim’s words and it stretched as tight as a drum.  “All right, Jim,” Artie said at last, voice cracking like a whip.  “Since you’re so curious, I’ll make one of us up like a woman right now.”

“Which one of us?” Jim asked, swallowing.

This alone seemed to trip Artie up again and he put aside his report with sigh.  “I don’t know, Jim,” he returned flatly.  “Whoever loses a game of cards- or a coin toss.”

Jim thought seriously about a card game, but decided not to take the time.  It would give them both too many chances to back out.  “A coin toss,” he said.

Artie nodded and took a coin out of his breast pocket, saying, “Heads or tails?”

“Tails.”

Holding Jim’s eyes combatively the whole time, Artie tossed the coin, caught it, and flipped it over on the back of his hand.  Only then did he glance down, and he scowled so powerfully that Jim was sure it was Artie who had lost.  Jim’s feelings on the subject were mixed- he at least half-wanted to see Artie in a dress again, but he was also suspected that, when he’d suggested it, it wasn’t Artie in the dress that he’d wanted.  Artie said, “It’s heads.”

“Ah,” Jim whispered.

Briefly, Artie’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.  Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his friend so unsure of himself.  Jim stood and crossed to his partner, grasping his sleeve and tugging until Artie followed him into the next car.  Artie kept most of his makeup and clothes in a closet connected to his lab.  For a moment, Artie stood silent and still in the middle of the room.  Then he said, “This is ridiculous.”

“You suggested it,” Jim replied, though they both knew he’d led Artie there.  Jim was amazed by the coolness in his voice.  He glanced toward his reflection in the mirror and was astonished even further at the nonchalant way he was leaning against the wall.  He didn’t look at all as though his skin was burning and too tight for his body, but that was how it felt.

“And it’s ridiculous,” Artie said, but he went into the closet anyway.  Jim heard fabrics rustling for a moment; then Artie emerged with a purple dress.  He set it the cot against the wall, the one he sometimes doctored Jim on, and amethyst silk spilled over the edge.  “There you go, Jim.”

His tone had a distinct, ‘I wash my hands of this’ edge to it, Jim thought.  Artie proved him right by trying to leave.  Jim planted a hand on Artie’s chest, stopping him.  The point of contact blazed.  “Uh-uh,” Jim said.  “It was _your_ idea.  I’m not letting you wimp out now.”

Artie’s eyebrows elevated.  “You make it sound like I’m the one putting on the dress.”

“You’re the one who has to help me.  I’m not talking about just putting on a dress.  You said you could show me how to make a man look like a woman.  So show me.”

“I-” Artie’s expression was odd, distracted.

Jim nodded to the vanity table and mirror in the closet.  It was arrayed with wigs and prosthetics and pots of makeup.

Artie glanced that way, then swallowed.  Then nodded.  He levered Jim down on the cot next to the dress and went back into the closet, picking up the things he needed with a deliberate set to his jaw.  Jim rested a hand on the cool silk, nerves mounting.  He’d been on more even footing with the coin toss.  Then Artie had tried to back down and Jim had tried to draw him back in, unable to admit even in the privacy of his own head why this was so important to him.  But because of it, he now had no one to blame but himself for what was happening.

By the time Artie was finished selecting his tools, Jim was sufficiently rattled by the thought of what he was about to do that the sight of Artie dropping to his knees in front of him barely provoked a reaction.

Then Artie opened one of the pots.

It wasn’t the kind of cream Jim had stolen from Artie- but Jim wasn’t sure it would’ve had a stronger effect on him if it had been.  He’d always liked the smell of Artie’s makeup, found it soothing.  In Jim’s mind it was tied up in safety, in not being alone in the lion’s den anymore. 

He calmed instinctively, just smelling it- and then his body tightened as he fully registered the figure Artie cut before him.  He gathered some of the silk into his lap unconsciously, trying to hide his arousal.  But Artie should smell it on him, should hear his heartbeat stutter and pound.

But either he didn’t, or was pretending he didn’t.  Playing with Jim.  The thought stabbed into Jim’s heart with a viciousness that should have made his erection wilt, but it didn’t.  The danger of being inches from a man who didn’t want him and burning for his touch was intoxicating, the bitterness he felt was only slightly less so.

All the same, Jim started and flinched away when Artie raised a finger to apply some makeup to his face.

Artie didn’t taunt, didn’t criticize- he just drew his hand back and waited.

Jim stilled, forcing himself not to lean into Artie’s fingertip when it returned.  For something to look at that wasn’t his partner’s beloved- and torturous- face, Jim eyed the large collection of makeup Artie had produced.

“You didn’t have so much,” he remarked.  “Before.”

Artie grinned suddenly and Jim’s skin tightened further.  He could never tell if such a comment would sound like a criticism or an observation, be a little harmless teasing or a quarrel about to happen.  He missed his friend, missed his easy smile and self-deprecating humor.  Missed knowing where to push and where to stop; how to amuse him, not make him angry.  But seeing that grin also reminded Jim of why he was losing Artemus in the first place.  He wanted to kiss the curve of Artie’s mouth where it was slightly higher on one side than the other, then trace it down to his full lower lip and-

No.  Jim shook himself.  This was what he was so angry at all the time- not Artie, himself.  His own head.  How for a second they were happy and everything was normal, and then that flash of _want_ caught up with him and he wished they were fighting because it was easy- too easy, perhaps- to pretend that the longing was anger.

“That was a rush job,” Artie was saying.  “And though the results could have been worse I felt a primer course was in order.  I went to see a friend who works in an all-male Shakespeare troupe- claims that’s the only way to do it, since that was how the plays were written.”  When Jim finally felt he had himself under control enough to meet Artie’s eyes, Artie was looking at him the way he did when he knew he’d lost Jim somehow, but couldn’t work out why.

He looked at Jim like that more and more lately, and Jim hated that, too.  “Do you like it?  Seeing the plays like that?”  Mostly, Jim asked to keep Artie talking.  He loved and despised the way Artie’s voice played over his ears, but needs must: he simply couldn’t make polite conversation with Artie’s fingertips ghosting over his face like this.

Artie shrugged, obviously humoring Jim more than anything.  “It has its charms,” he admitted.  “I saw their Twelfth Night, once.”

“And?”  Artie’s finger slid over the hollow of his cheekbone; it was all Jim could do not to shiver. 

“Well, Viola is a woman pretending to be a man.  In this case, a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man.  There’s something about the layered deception that’s fascinating- if one is a connoisseur of such things.”

And naturally, Artie was.  There was silence for a while, then: “What are you doing?”

Artie’s fingers paused.  “Do you want me to stop?”

Yes, he wanted Artie to stop. He also wanted nothing less.  Eventually, he managed, “No.  Just… tell me what you’re doing.”

“Well, on stage, makeup is used to accentuate the features, so to make them visible from a large distance.  The lines on men and women’s faces are different.  A man’s cheekbone should be highlighted in some areas and darkened in others, but always with straight, horizontal lines- while a woman’s should be a downturned diagonal.  This is a slightly lighter version- but the idea is to make the features appear thinner and more… delicate.  A little rouge and some kohl does the rest- if that’s all right with you.”

“I asked for it.”

“Yes,” Artie replied.  “You did.”  His tone suggested that what Artie was really saying was, ‘And that’s the part that doesn’t make a lick of sense.’ 

Jim didn’t disagree on any particular point- it _didn’t_ make sense.  He didn’t even know why he wanted it- just that he did. 

After a moment of silence, Artie went back to work.  His thumb slid across Jim’s lower lip.  and Jim’s breath hitched painfully, but Artie didn't withdraw.  “You’ve cut your lip, James,” he observed, smoothing his fingertips over it.  “Badly.”

“Fight,” Jim said.  The lie was, he thought, a plausible one. 

“Hmm,” Artie replied, and this time when his fingers withdrew they didn’t come back.  Jim kept himself from moaning at the loss, turning to look at Artie.  

His partner held up a wig- light brown, not far removed from the color of Jim’s actual hair- with a look that suggested, ‘Last chance to back out, buddy.’

Jim nodded jerkily and closed his eyes.

Artie settled it on Jim’s head.  The ‘hair’ felt smooth, nice- although whatever Artie was doing with pins to secure it to his head was a bit strange.  The hair reached past Jim’s shoulders, not fixed in a bun as Artie’s and Ms. Tyler’s had both been.  Artie prodded Jim on the shoulder until he made eye contact again.

When Jim did so, Artie piled the rest of the dress into Jim’s lap and left the lab.

They didn’t normally worry much about privacy, but under the circumstances Jim was grateful for it.  His cock ached trapped in his trousers, but he ignored it while he stripped naked and slipped into the dress.

It was made for Artie, and thus a little too snug in the shoulders and too long in the skirt, hem dragging on the floor- but when Jim looked down he could see that whoever had made it knew what they were doing.  The cut of the neckline deemphasized broad shoulders.  A cleverly constructed false bust was built into the chest.  The laces up the back would synch the waist tightly enough to create the illusion of more pronounced curves while the wide, flaring sleeves made the arms look more slender.  It wasn’t perfect- but it wasn’t bad.

“No shoes,” Artie’s voice rumbled from the other room.  Then he snorted, as though he’d come to the conclusion that Jim wouldn’t care.  

Jim didn’t- and yet he did.  The skirt, wide and layered over a lacy petticoat, made the very idea of legs disappear entirely, and the hem tangled with his bare feet when he tried to move.  And it was _hard_ to move. It occurred to Jim for the first time to wonder just how women got around like this.  Shoes, he suspected, would not alleviate the problem; they might even aggravate it.

On the other hand, he’d asked for everything.  It irritated him not to _have_ everything.

Shifting, he swore quietly.

“Are you decent?” Artie called in a mild, joking tone.

Jim knew he should joke back, but the expected response- whatever it was- caught in his throat.  “I-” he began.  “Yes.”

Artie came back, another tumbler of whiskey in his hand.  He stared at Jim with the strangest expression.  His eyes were as wide as Jim had ever seen them and they ruined the effect of amused detachment he’d obviously been going for.  Jim liked that, liked the way Artie was looking at him as though he’d never seen him before. 

Expression growing- if anything- stranger still, Artie reached out and began fussing with the fake curls around Jim’s shoulders, arranging them silently until he felt they were just so.

Then, mouth quirking though his eyes still didn’t match it, Artie pantomimed with his free hand lifting the skirts an inch or two up off the ground, as women did when they encountered a mud puddle or were trying to run in a costume obviously not at all suited to the activity.   

Jim did so and awkwardly picked his way toward the mirror.  Once his back was to Artie it all felt much easier.

“How do you feel?” Artie asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Foolish.”  Jim sighed; it was the absolute truth, but not for the reasons Artie probably assumed. He’d never make a habit of it, but there was something erotic about the delicate fabrics and the smoothness of the silk on his skin, something that was illicit in ways Jim had never conceived before.  Nothing would ever entice him to go out like this, _live_ like this, but that didn’t mean that the allure of it completely escaped him.  He was, after all, more of a hedonist than most people thought.    

He didn’t exactly make a beautiful woman, but he hadn’t expected to.  Artie’s arrangement of the curls from the wig obscured his thick neck and the makeup did indeed play with angles and shadows in a way that softened his features.  The kohl around his eyes made them look bigger and more heavily lashed.  He caught himself wondering if Artie might find him attractive like this.  And there it was- at the mere thought of Artie wanting him Jim’s neglected cock pulsed, and the feel of it under the skirts was as alluring as it was humiliating.  A chair was beside him and Jim moved to stand behind it, leaning on it as if for support.  Pushing his groin against the wood relieved some of the pressure, but not all of it.  Not when he watched his partner in the mirror and saw him set his glass down with a clink and stalk toward him, settling against his back.

Jim’s muscles stiffened as he reacted to Artie’s nearness.  The erection he could maybe explain away, excuse- after all, a man was _supposed_ to feel like this when he was pressed up against a woman’s skirt, he was just on the wrong side of it at the moment. 

Artie efficiently laced up the back.  The fit was tight, making it rather difficult to breathe.  That too was more erotic than Jim expected, arousing him to an extent he didn’t like or want.  The lack of air intensified every sensation, or so it seemed to Jim.

The solid warmth of Artie’s body against his back was like a furnace.

Jim’s hands clenched on the chair back and his hips rocked. He hissed softly in spite of himself.

Artie finished and rested a hand briefly on the small of Jim’s back.  He produced a rose of lavender silk and pinned it just behind Jim’s ear.  Then, with a whisper of silk rearranging itself at his departure, Artie moved away.

Jim’s knuckles turned white with the effort of not reaching for him.

In the mirror, he watched Artie retrieve his glass and throw back its contents.  The lines of his body were tight, reminding Jim of the way he’d looked earlier when they were talking about Ms. Tyler.  He was, Jim could see in a rush of insight, about to do or say something that he didn’t think Jim would like.  

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“What?” was out of Jim’s mouth before he could think better of it.  Artie had thrown the words over his shoulder off-handedly, and though his posture was rigid his voice quirked like it was a joke.  It didn’t feel much like a joke to Jim, though; the unexpected and unwelcome rush of arousal the words sent careening through his body was so intense that he thought he might be sick. 

“I mean only that-” and here Artie walked toward him and didn’t stop until he was close enough for Jim to smell the alcohol on his breath- “You look awfully lovely to be wasting it cooped up here with me.”  Artie stilled, swallowed, and let his fingertips trail over the back of Jim’s hand.

Jim shivered at the implication; he’d been wrong before- there _was_ something that could entice him to go out like this.  Artie.  The prospect of Artie approaching him in the midst of crowded room full of beautiful- _real_ \- women, just to tell him that he looked ‘awfully lovely’ was horribly enticing.

His head ached.  He wasn’t fooling anyone but himself by entertaining such a silly fantasy.  He tried to shake it off, but that proved not to be so easy.  No, he wouldn’t fool Artie, not even if the physical illusion was perfect; though he managed when the situation called for it, he knew that he had neither his partner’s aptitude nor his enthusiasm for subterfuge.  Unless, of course, Artie _wanted_ to be fooled.  Dressed like this, it was too easy to imagine that Artie might want him, even if it was only for a little while.

Looking at his partner, Jim searched for the smallest indication that he knew the effect he was having.  Artie’s eyes were closed, his head angled slightly to one side- as if he expected Jim to haul back and hit him in the jaw.

What Jim really wanted was something altogether different.  Jim knew, now- now that it no longer did him any good- that he’d been wrong before.  Artie had doubtless pretended not to see a great many things in his time, but Jim’s feelings weren’t among them.  If he had ever registered that Jim wanted him, if he registered now that what Jim really wanted was to tilt his chin up- as, God help him, a woman would- for Artie to kiss him, it was buried so deep that even Artie wasn’t aware of it.

If he knew, Jim would be the one who got punched in the face. 

And it wasn’t the pain or the punishment that Jim feared- he deserved it for letting his control be worn away by an onslaught Artie hadn’t even known he was providing.  What he feared was the final confirmation that there would never be more between them.

But right now- all unknowing how deeply Jim longed for it- Artie was offering more.  He could be someone Artie might want for a little while.

He turned his hand and grasped Artie’s fingers.  If Artie was standing in his place and he in Artie’s, his partner would crack a joke.  He’d flutter his eyelashes coquettishly, pitch his voice high and flirt.  It was one of the few things about Artie that drove Jim to distraction, but not with desire.  Artie always seemed self-assured, even when Jim knew that he wasn’t.  He always knew how to act as though everything was normal even when it obviously wasn’t.  It made Jim want to push.  But how could he push now?  It would have an effect on Artie, he knew, if he did try to flutter his eyelashes, if he did pitch his voice high and flirt.  It would be like Artie, but it wouldn’t be like Jim- and Artie would know it.  It might even wake him up, make him take a second look at Jim.

He hadn’t taken a second look at Jim since they met.

But Jim doubted he could pitch his voice any higher without sounding utterly ridiculous- so he just spoke softly and lightly.  “I suppose if I’ve caught your eye it must be conquest enough.”

Artie obviously hadn’t expected Jim to play along.  His eyes flew wide and for a second to he looked at Jim like he’d never seen him before- and a part of Jim thought, ‘Good,’ even as the rest of him cringed.  Artie turned away from him; he tried to move out of Jim’s space, but Jim tightened his grip on Artie’s fingers and didn’t let go.

When Artie looked at Jim again he was smiling crookedly.  He was Artie still, but no Artie Jim ever got to see except from a distance.  He raised their joined hands and looked at Jim just as he would have at a woman who had, as Jim said, caught his eye. 

Artie stepped closer, his whiskey perfumed breath fanning across Jim’s ear, and said softly, “May I have this dance?”

Jim’s heart was hammering in his chest, but he tried to remind himself that this was nothing new.  It was exactly like every other bit of playacting they’d indulged in- for practice or amusement- at one time or another.  The only difference now was that Jim was the one in disguise, angling to get a response from his partner that he never would as himself. 

Surely Artie knew how to see just the disguise as well as Jim did- and wouldn’t the game of it intrigue him?  Seeing just how far into the pretense they could fall?   

He’d seen Artemus with plenty of women; he had an idea what it might entail.  He’d seen Artie’s lips brushing against the shell of woman’s ear, just as they slid over his now.  He’d seen him whisper, voice soft enough to be a secret between the two of them.  Artie was never less than a gentleman- but naivety always seemed to bore him.  With the right kind of woman, a few choice words could have her squirming where she stood, though not with fear or discomfort- except, of course, for the kind of discomfort that begged relief in bedchamber.  Suddenly, Jim wanted to be that kind of woman for him.  He wanted to be anything at all if it meant Artie wouldn’t put a stop to this.

“You may,” Jim replied, his voice papery and dry.

Dancing wasn’t something they did much of on the train; there was little enough space for two couples and no way to play music except when Artie had borrowed a phonograph- usually, they went out instead.  Jim imagined it, being held tight in his partner’s arms in public, and shuddered as a hand went around his waist.  Artie paused until Jim slid his own hand up Artie’s arm and rested it on his shoulder, then he relaxed and shifted his grip on Jim’s hand- and there they were.  Artie seemed like he was at least partially in shock.  Jim almost smiled.  He'd danced the woman's part before in his life- he wasn't nearly as terrified of being feminized as Artie clearly thought he was.  He hadn't made a habit of being ashamed of his impulses before he met Artie, and he'd always liked to give up control now and then.  It could be a relief. 

All the same, as Artie hummed a waltz in his ear and led them in a small circle around the cramped space, Jim's concentration was mostly on not stepping on Artie's toes. 

Artie’s thumb stroked across Jim’s hip- he felt it through the fabric- and Jim did lose track of the steps.  Artie’s arm tightened around his middle, pulling them flush together.  Jim couldn’t keep back his gasp.  Artie chuckled, breath fanning warmly over Jim’s neck as Jim’s head came to rest on his shoulder.  “Not much of a dancer, are you?”  The affectionate, gentle amusement in his voice removed any sting from the words, and for a moment Jim let himself imagine that Artie was holding _him_ so tight and close- then he remembered how beautiful and appealing- and important- Artie could make any woman feel. 

“No,” Jim admitted, nuzzling Artie’s shirt and inhaling, taking in his partner’s scent.

“Hmm,” Artie murmured, releasing the hand he was holding.  “Doesn’t matter.”  His fingers- slightly damp from Jim’s sweaty grip- brushed Jim’s chin and tilted it up until Jim met his eyes.  “I know a dance I’d wager you’re much better at.”

He leaned in and kissed Jim softly.  His mouth was warm, gentle- and Jim groaned at his first taste of Artie and stiffened, knowing it was a man’s groan.  But Artie didn’t seem to mind, deepening the kiss and coaxing Jim’s lips open.  Even with men Jim still often had to be the aggressor; he’d rarely _been_ kissed before, and never with such a perfect mixture of hunger and tenderness, passion and delicacy. 

Coals of desperate lust burned fiercely in Jim’s gut.  He wanted only to draw Artie closer, to be kissed by him forever.  Thus, he knew he had to do the opposite; he squirmed out of Artie’s grip.  He felt even more like a fool than he had before.  This was what he’d wanted- and more.  But he thought he might die if he had this and then had to give it up.

Jim turned his back to Artie, hoping some space might help him recover his senses, but he felt his partner coming closer anyway.  Jim hadn’t realized how near they were to the wall until he took another step and found himself pinned between it and his partner.  The solid heat of Artie’s body made him rethink all over again.  He _wanted_ Artie to kiss him, to fight past his defenses and plunder his mouth.   His hard cock pushed against the wall through the silk at the thought of it.  And then Artie’s hands were on his laces, undoing them.  Jim was giddy with relief and lust, but he managed to bite back his groan this time- and it was a good thing, too; he realized that Artie wasn’t really undressing him- at least, not in passion.

“Jim,” came the rough whisper.  “Sorry.”  Artie was half tearing the laces in his haste to get the dress off him.

“Don’t be,” Jim sighed, bracing his hands on the wall.  It had been nice while it lasted and it was his own damned fault.  Artie had misinterpreted why Jim had pulled away from him, and how could he not?  Jim had never thought of his partner as innocent in his life- but he realized that was what this was.  If Jim had really been shocked or disgusted by the kiss, what would he think of Artie tearing his clothes off?  He would think Artie wanted to fuck him and he’d be completely wrong about that- but Jim, who _wanted_ Artie’s mouth, his body, his cock, knew better.

Jim laughed bitterly.  If he licked his lips he could taste Artie still and feel the press of soft, sweet lips.  He squeezed his eyes shut as the laughter turned into a sob and bent his head. 

It was then that he realized that Artie’s hands shook slightly on the laces, his fingers hot where they stumbled over Jim’s skin- and his breath was coming pants.  Jim felt a terrible hope welling up inside him.  That maybe Artie was acting so rashly because he’d been taken by surprise by his reaction to Jim and wanted to remove them both from temptation’s way before he did something rash.  “Artie?” he whispered.

“Hmm?” Artie sounded distracted, hands moving steadily down.

It was a big risk, too big a risk, but Jim didn’t think he could bear to be misunderstood anymore- not after all this- so when he spoke he turned his head, giving Artie his profile.  It was enough for Artie to see his expression, see the desperation and desire in his eyes.  “Do you want me?  Do you want me like this?”

Artie’s eyes flew wide, and he regarded Jim once again as though he’d never seen him before, fingers finally stilling, knuckles brushing the small of Jim’s back.  “I-” Artie cut himself off and swallowed convulsively.  “Yes.  Yes, of course I do.”

Jim made a soft sound, not quite a moan or a whimper, but something in between.  This was wrong, sick.  This was exactly the kind of game neither of them could afford to play with the other.  Jim was half mad with lust and Artie was drunk and this was wrong.  So wrong.  Perhaps this would have been a better argument against taking it further if the very wrongness of it wasn’t suddenly such an aphrodisiac to Jim.  He leaned back into Artie’s hands where they rested against him.

Nothing in Artie’s face changed, but one of his hands uncurled as if by instinct alone, pressing against Jim’s skin gently.  For a second, they stayed that way, staring at each other- Jim arching into Artie’s touch, Artie ever-so-slightly caressing him.

Artie snarled quietly. One hand came up to drag across Jim’s cheek and tangle in the wig, dislodging that little silk rose and then crushing their mouths together.  The other remained on the small of Jim’s back, drawing him away from the wall and pulling their chests flush together.  Artie kissed Jim fiercely, with an almost frightening possessiveness.  But Jim wasn’t frightened- he’d never been more aroused in his life, and yet he was shy of doing anything but let himself be kissed, afraid anything else might break whatever fantasy in Artie’s mind prompted him to do this.  He did open his mouth again for Artie, though, hoping he’d see the invitation for what it was. 

When Artie’s tongue slid across his teeth, Jim hesitantly, carefully, met it, raising his hand to trace the lines of Artie’s face with his fingers.  Every sound Artie made, every stroke of his lips and his hands, seemed like an encouragement, and Jim felt his own passion mounting until he was kissing Artie back with equal fervor.

After a moment merely pressed against him, Artie’s hand worked underneath the half-unlaced fabric and slid up Jim’s bare back.  Jim leaned into Artie’s touch as it smoothed over his spine, his shoulder blades, his neck.  Artie’s hand finally joined its mate against the back of Jim’s head, cupping it between them.

When Artie finally pulled back, Jim wanted more- he wanted to lean in, kiss Artie again, be kissed by Artie again.  He tried to follow his partner’s lips, but the slightest pressure of Artie’s grip on the back of his head was enough to keep him still.  Artie’s pupils were blown as he looked at Jim, his eyes almost black, his expression hungry.  But he was clearly searching for something in Jim’s face; Jim didn’t know what, but eventually Artie seemed to find it.

When he moved it took only the slightest pressure to direct Jim- this time to lie back on the cot to their left.  Artie draped himself over him. 

In this new position, Artie moved one of his hands from Jim’s hair to his face, tracing a line with his fingertip from Jim’s forehead to his nose to his chin, then down his throat to his collarbone.  There he paused, stroking the hollow, the ridge of the bone, and then back again.  He bent further and kissed Jim again.

He seemed to have gotten something out of his system, because when next he kissed Jim it was as if he were exploring him with all the time in the world to do so absolutely.  He deepened the kiss perusingly, opening Jim up and slowly sliding inside as if he belonged there.  He kissed Jim like he was a fine wine that needed thoughtful sampling, like he was some undiscovered land that needed rigorous mapping, like he was a delicate flower that needed gentle treatment.  He kissed Jim so deeply that he found places in Jim’s mouth that Jim hadn’t been sure existed before, and then he pulled back to pepper softer kisses around corners of Jim’s lips.

The hand on Jim’s collarbone ghosted across it and finally came to rest on his shoulder, pushing the neckline down to caress bare skin.

Jim groaned again, pushing up against Artie’s touch, and Artie stroked him tenderly, gentled him, making soothing noises and kissing him softly, repeatedly on the lips.  Jim did as he was bid and relaxed, giving Artie free reign over his body. 

Artie made a tiny noise of approval, and deepened his kiss again. He rubbed his hand up and down Jim’s arm before moving it to his chest, his waist, his hip.  Artie’s touch alternated, here smooth and heavy, tantalizing enough for Jim to arch unconsciously into it, there light and stuttering, airy enough to make Jim squirm for something more tangible.  One touch bled so totally into another that Jim lost track of where Artie was exactly, lost track of everything but Artie’s hand exploring his body and Artie’s tongue exploring his mouth.

Until he felt Artie’s palm cupping his erection, and he bucked into it before he realized how it ruined the already thin charade.  The sudden chill of it made him roll out from under his partner and curl in on himself, as if that could hide him.  It felt so… wrong.  Too wrong.  These kisses were stolen from someone else, someone who was what they seemed. 

A man playing a woman playing a man.  A man so deep in love and lust he had no idea how to dig himself out again, playing a man with no desires or intentions but friendship, now playing… what?  A woman?  A man- but the kind who dressed up as a woman and wanted a man to touch him as though he was one?  Or worse yet, the kind who dressed up as a woman on a bet and let his friend kiss him just to see what it was like?

What would that man do?  How far would he take it? 

Jim wanted to take it all the way, imagined the skirt hiked up around his hips and Artie’s cock hot and hard against him, pushing in.  It made his erection pulse to think of it, despite his shame and anxiety.  But whatever kind of man or woman or friend or stranger he was supposed to be tonight, Jim was sure that things couldn’t go back to the way they were after this.  Hadn’t he wanted that when he started this strange, sick game?  Suddenly, it was the last thing he wanted. 

He heard Artie repeating, “Jim,” over and over.  It felt discordant to hear his name now, of all times, but it got his attention.  “Look at me.”  Jim half obeyed, turning his face toward his partner but looking anywhere but into Artie’s eyes.  “Jim, I- I don’t want to play games with you.”

Painfully, Jim swallowed.  It was as if Artie had read his mind.  “I don’t want to play games with you either.”  He wasn’t entirely sure if it was true or not; wasn’t a game better than nothing?  Didn’t Artie have some character or other in his repertoire who would want Jim?  If Jim could only have a taste once in a while it might be enough to live on- and Artie could flex his muscles as an actor.

Artie smiled tightly and, once again as if he’d read Jim’s mind, said, “Who am I, Jim?  Who do you want?”

Jim realized what Artie was offering and had to meet his eyes then.  He owed his partner that much.  He ached to bring up Kingston- it would explain what had gotten into him tonight without giving it all away.  Jim was sure he would enjoy it- Kingston may not have been Artie, but he was close enough.  Maybe Artie would enjoy it too.  But… no.  Jim didn’t want Artie to fain desire for him, not really- and he couldn’t bear to make him feel he had to.  He didn’t want to trap Artie in a part, but he didn’t want to trap himself in one either.  Jim could lose himself in this embrace for a while, but he’d never actually want to be a woman, and if Artie would never actually want to be with a man… they were at an impasse.  If they had to play at being perfect strangers to even attempt this, they were at an impasse.  Jim was in love with _Artie_ , no one else. 

So no. Jim didn’t want to play a game- not like this.

“You,” Jim breathed.  “Just you.”  Jim’s insides clenched patiently.  “Whatever that means for- for us, just be you.”  

Artie sighed.  “Good.”  He seemed to collect himself, reaching out with a wry smile and taking the wig off Jim’s head.  Jim readied himself for Artie to move away, to stand up and pretend that none of this had happened.  But he didn’t- instead, he stroked his fingers through Jim’s hair and then down, cupping Jim’s face his hands, one thumb brushing over Jim’s lips.  “You look stunning,” Artie whispered almost… worshipfully.  “So if I said I didn’t want you like this, I’d be lying.  But I don’t want… this.”

Jim nodded tightly, refusing to let himself truly react.

Artie shifted, his hard cock pressing against Jim’s thigh.  “I want _you_ , James,” Artie told him.  “Not these… trappings.  And while I’m being honest, I think I’ve been more myself tonight than I have been in years.”

“Then undress me,” Jim said, surprising himself with his quickness.

“Jim-” Artie started, looking surprised too.

“Please, Artie.  Please- undress me.  I don’t want there to be anything between us anymore.”  Eventually Jim managed to stop babbling, but the litany didn’t stop in his head.  He wanted Artie’s body flush against his.  He wanted Artie buried inside him.  He wanted them so close he could feel his partner in his blood.

Eventually, Artie nodded and his hands worked down.  A calloused palm rubbed over Jim’s shoulder while the other found his back and pushed the purple fabric down over his chest.  Jim’s heart fluttered and his mind raced until Artemus bent his head and pressed his lips to Jim’s nipple, sucking firmly.

Rational thought abruptly went out of Jim’s head.

He let his head roll back as Artie played his body skillfully, kissing and sucking and nipping at every inch of his chest and torso.  Jim lost track of everything but the drag of Artie’s mouth over his skin; the next time Jim managed to look up, he was naked.  He couldn’t even see that dress anywhere. 

Artie worked down to Jim’s cock and pulled the tip into his mouth.  Jim cried out and threw his head back at the sudden heat encasing him.  Sparks flashed before Jim’s eyes, and for a moment he felt like he couldn’t have opened them if he wanted to.  Smaller, but no less pleasurable, sparks continued to shudder through him as Artie sucked and then slid his tongue over the slit.

Eventually, Jim recovered himself enough to look at Artie- but the sight of his friend’s mouth wrapped around him was even more stunning than the liquid warmth surrounding him. 

Jim groaned again.  “I’m close, Artie.  I-”

Artie nodded but didn’t back off; he continued to lap at Jim’s slit, head bobbing between Jim’s legs.  With embarrassing quickness, Jim shouted and spilled into Artie’s mouth.  He made punishing fists in the sheets on the cot.  Artie swallowed heavily around him and pulled back only when Jim had begun to soften.  He looked rather pleased with himself.  

Jim stated the painfully obvious: “You’ve… done that before.”  It was difficult to be sorry for it, Artie was… incredible, after all- but Jim was a jealous man, or at least he could be, and he always was where Artie was concerned. 

“I’ve given myself away,” Artie said, dryly.

It was a joke- Jim knew it, but he sensed a certain vulnerability in the way Artie held himself and in the slight edge in his voice.  Jim remembered what Artie said, what felt like a million years ago, about conversations he didn’t want to have with Jim.  Doubtless, this had been one of them. All these thoughts about how oblivious Artie was- could it be that Jim had himself been missing something very important?  If Jim hadn’t insisted on making himself so damned unapproachable all the time, they might’ve done this a long time ago.  “I guess I’ve given myself away too,” Jim whispered, hoping it might help.

Sure enough, Artie’s eyes crinkled and he smiled gently, crawling up to Jim’s level to kiss him softly.  “Yes,” he said.  “You have.”

“And I want to.  I want to give myself away.”  Jim shifted his hips so that Artie’s erection bumped against his ass, hoping it would articulate what he wanted, because he wasn’t sure that he could.

From the way Artie’s grip on him tightened and his face grew serious, Jim figured he’d been successful.  “Are you sure, Jim?” he whispered.

“I’m sure.  You’ve that before, too, haven’t you?”

Artie nodded, that same somber look on his face; then like quicksilver his expression changed, a playful smile lighting his features.  “When have you ever known me to willfully halve my options?” he asked.

This time, Jim did laugh.  The jealousy still burned hot in his chest, but he let it go.  When Artie put it that way, he felt silly to have doubted.  He also, suddenly, felt a little frightened.  Artie _didn’t_ like to limit his options, and when Jim thought of it that way it seemed ridiculous to think that Artie wouldn’t want to fuck him- after all, Jim was always here and he always wanted Artie.  That didn’t mean that it _mattered_ to him.

Jim didn’t realize how lost he’d become in these dark thoughts until he felt Artie kissing his face, repeating his name over and over.

He forced himself to meet Artie’s worried eyes.

“You with me, Jim?” Artie asked, his mild tone at odds with his expression.  “I think I lost you for a second.”

“I’m all right,” Jim whispered.  He wasn’t, really, but he told himself he would rather be Artie’s convenience than anyone else’s only love.  It was almost- maybe- true.

“I don’t believe you,” Artie replied, simply.

Jim swallowed.  “I just… wondered if this was about… more options.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that the possibility wasn’t an exciting one,” Artie said drily, only one corner of his mouth elevated.  “But I think that it’s more to do with the fact that I'm love with you.”

“Oh,” Jim breathed.  “Thank God.”

The other corner of Artie’s mouth quirked up.  His hair was ruffled by Jim’s hands, and Jim wanted to feel that smile with his lips and run his fingers through that hair- and he realized that he could.

He cradled Artie’s head and stroked his scalp, ran his tongue over the curve of Artie’s mouth and then plunged inside, tasting himself.  Artie groaned, bracing himself with one hand as Jim craned up, kissing him deeply.  When Artie finally levered himself away he looked very sorry to do so.  Jim lay back on the cot, breathing hard and aching even though he’d just come.

It occurred to Jim, as Artie pulled back enough to stand, that Artie was still fully dressed while he was completely naked.  His expression of mingled puzzlement and annoyance- seasoned with a not-inconsiderable helping of lust- must have been a sight to behold.

Artie’s eyes certainly flew wide and he chuckled softly, leaning over to kiss Jim again.  It was too light and it was over far too soon; then he was gone again.

Jim stayed still, not even looking around for fear it might somehow break the spell.

When Artie came back, he had a jar of cream in his hand and he set it down on the cot next to Jim.  Artie’s hands went to his tie and he started to undo it, his eyes locked with Jim’s the whole time.  Jim’s mouth felt dry and he swallowed.  After his tie, Artie stripped off his waistcoat, then his shirt, then his trousers. 

Artie undressed efficiently.  Whatever residual anxiety he’d seemed to have had evaporated some time during the proceedings; his hands didn’t tremble or waver.  But he didn’t make any effort to be seductive about it, either.  Jim didn’t mind that; he slid his eyes over the muscles in Artie’s arms, down his broad chest.  Something about the matter-of-fact way Artie stripped made it easier to watch him, and Jim felt almost calm as he did so.

Until Artie stepped out of his smallclothes and Jim’s eyes fell to his cock.

He was flushed and rigid.  Jim had always known that Artie was big, but looking at him hard was different than sneaking illicit glances at him while he changed and trying to pretend he hadn’t filed away what he saw.

And imagining Artie inside him, long and thick, was different than knowing that he could actually have him- and soon.

Jim groaned, deeply.

Artie tilted his head to one side, eyeing Jim.  Considering the effect he’d had on him.

“Can-” Jim licked his lips again.  “Can I touch you?”  He realized he hadn’t, yet- not really.  Not the way Artie had touched him.  Did Artie want it that way?  To touch Jim, to drive him crazy, and yet remain untouched himself?  Jim had never been much good at reading Artie, and trying to silently follow his partner’s lead in these matters had led to nothing but trouble thus far.

Artie climbed onto the cot next to Jim.  “That’s the idea,” he said.

Jim felt a frightening mix of relief and disappointment.  He wanted to touch Artie, wanted this to be reciprocal- and yet he was drawn to the idea of Artie taking him apart piece by piece while remaining emotionally distant himself.  It was, Jim realized, the track his fantasies had so often taken.  But was that what he wanted, or was it all he’d ever believed he might have?

This muddle of emotions kept Jim frozen for a long time.  And for a long time Artie just lounged beside him, watching Jim’s face and waiting, assessing.  Then Artie’s mouth quirked and he reached out and took Jim’s hand, guiding it to his shoulder.

For a while, Jim stared at his hand on Artie’s skin as if it were part of some other man’s body.  But at last he moved, sliding his hand over Artie’s collarbone and then his chest, noting the smoothness of his skin and the crispness of his body hair.  He rolled Artie’s nipple in his palm and ran the backs of his fingers over Artie’s stomach.  Finally- almost shyly- he touched Artie’s cock, stroking his thumb over the head lightly.

Artie’s eyes remained locked with Jim’s the whole time, just as they had for the coin toss that had started all this, and when Jim gripped his cock Artie hissed and his eyes heated.  That look finally shattered what remained of Jim’s self-control.

He growled and crushed Artie to him, moaning and writhing at the sensation of the two of them pressed skin to skin.  Artie gave back as good as he got, hips twisting against Jim’s until he found a way to press their cocks together and thrust against Jim.  Groaning, Jim buried his face in Artie’s shoulder and counted silently in his head until he could breathe again.  He didn’t want to let go of Artie, but he knew he had to- being wrapped up in his partner like this had brought him right back up to the edge.

Artie breathed, “This is enough, Jim.”

“No,” Jim argued, and managed to tear himself away from Artie.  He found the jar and handed it to Artie.   Simply rubbing against each other had been sweet, intimate in a way Jim had never thought to hope for- and he thought that sometimes Artie would be right and this _would_ be enough- but right now what he needed was very specific, and it was non-negotiable.  For as long as he’d known Artie he’d ached to have that big cock inside him- and he’d have it tonight.

“Jim-”

“Could you- could you please just fuck me?”  When Artie continued to eye him uncertainly, Jim continued: “I need more, Artie.  It’s _not_ enough.  Not tonight.”

For a second, Artie continued to just eye the jar.  Then he nodded, took the lid off, and greased his fingers.  Shaking all over again, Jim lifted one leg and let the other hang off the side of the cot, giving Artie access.  He felt foolish for the few seconds he had to wait before Artie found his opening and brushed his fingers over it.

Artie started slow, with one fingertip, but it didn’t take him long to figure out that Jim could take much more, much faster.  Jim was still a bit loose from earlier, and with a little twisting, three fingers went in with relative ease, the deep pleasure of them enough to counter the slight burn of the intrusion.  “Have _you_ done this before?” Artie asked, his expression odd- not jealous, only as though he was deciding whether or not to feel foolish for not having asked Jim the question before.

Jim blushed faintly, then closed his eyes.  “Not for a long time,” he whispered.  “But I do… touch myself.  Like this, I mean.”

Jim felt Artie thread the fingers of his free hand through his own, saw Artie look at them assessingly, and then scissor the ones inside him, making Jim squirm at the aching stretch of them.  Artie groaned softly and tried four fingers.  “I believe it,” he said. 

Artie pushed his fingers deeper, deeper than Jim could go in the contortion required to push his fingers into himself and he moaned, writhing under Artie as pleasure sparked through him.

“And you… you like it?”

Jim nodded, still keeping his eyes closed.  Given that Artie was stroking the inside of him and the hard line of his cock was pressed against Jim’s hip, it shouldn’t have felt like the guilty secret that it did- but Jim had been keeping it for so long.  “Makes everything… feel better.” 

Jim liked the deep pressure of being touched there, and the ache that seemed to heighten every other sensation, but he honestly wasn’t sure if it was that pressure, that ache- or the rush of wrongness and danger that had always come from imagining Artie fucking him while the man was _right over there_ and so easily able to catch him at it that ‘made everything feel better.’  It had gotten to a point when almost nothing was enough without the almost unthinkable possibility of being caught.

”Christ, Jim,” Artie murmured.  Jim realized that he’d been babbling some- maybe all- of this out loud and flushed.

“Artie,” he breathed, ashamed.

“Does it feel good now?”

“Artie,” Jim repeated, half flinching away from the line of his partner’s questioning and half arching into the deep slide of Artie’s fingers into him, slow and gentle where Jim had always forced his own in, twisting punishingly.

“Jim.”  Artie’s voice was tight, uncompromising.  “Does what I’m doing feel good?”

“Yes,” Jim gasped out.  Maybe he liked it rough- or maybe he was just in love with the idea of hurting himself for wanting what he couldn’t have enough to destroy what he could.  Jim didn’t know what he liked anymore, because the sweet tenderness of Artie’s touches didn’t leave him at all unsatisfied.  Quite the contrary- he felt like his skin was on fire and he’d shoot off again at any minute.

“Artie,” Jim groaned softly.  “More.  Please.”

“All right, Jim,” Artie whispered, and slicked his cock one-handed before he pulled his fingers out and guided himself to the opening.

Without consciously intending to, Jim threw an arm over his face to cover his eyes, and released a shaking breath.  The disconnect between everything he’d always told himself he couldn’t have and what Artie was finally telling him he could made everything seem off center.  He felt as though it would unmake him, to finally be with Artie.  He wanted to brand every second of it into his brain, and yet he caught himself trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.

He couldn’t pretend for very long.  Artie’s cock was thicker than his fingers; it didn’t twist and bend and stroke the way they did, and the slide of it was hotter and more inexorable.  He was barely in to the tip and it already felt like it was splitting him in two. 

Jim groaned.

Artie stopped.  One of his hands, still slick and warm from its previous activity, slid up Jim’s arm to clasp their hands together and guide it off Jim’s face, entwining their fingers and resting their hands on the mattress above Jim’s head.  The other left Jim’s hip and found his face, holding it still.  Artie leaned forward to press their foreheads together, close enough that there was virtually nothing for him to look at but Artie’s eyes, so he finally did.  He exhaled a rattling breath and Artie caught it, his own breathing deep and calm, soothing.  Jim found it bracing enough to speak when he let it out again.

“I love you too,” he said.  It had been a while since Artie said it, but that was how to long it had taken some of the slower parts of Jim to fully process it.

“I kinda figured,” Artie replied, as much awe as amusement in his voice.

He smiled at Jim, and Jim smiled back.  Jim’s grip on Artie’s hand tightened and he wrapped his raised leg around Artie’s waist. Every other part of him relaxed completely, and Artie finally- _finally_ \- started to slide into him.  It seemed to Jim that Artie couldn’t possibly have gone slower, but once he started he never once paused- nor did he speed up, even when Jim tried to urge him on with hips and legs.  Artie only stopped when he was completely sheathed inside Jim.

“Christ, Jim,” he whispered, rocking.  Then he moved his hips more, sliding halfway out and then deeper in.

“Harder,” Jim whispered.

“Jim-”

“ _Harder_.”    

Jim felt it the moment Artie groaned and lost control, pounding into him.  Jim met him thrust for thrust.  Nothing had ever been like this before.  Jim’s cock was leaking where it was trapped between their bodies and Artie’s hand found it, jerking along it roughly, and it didn’t take him long to bring Jim over the edge with his fingers.

Artie kept moving inside him, hard and fast; desperate.  Even if Jim had been able to speak, he wouldn’t have known how to describe the strange, savage pleasure he took from the knowledge that Artie was using him purely for his own gratification- but it overshadowed and even outmatched that of his own climax.  But with broken encouragements and quiet whimpers, with limbs slipping along Artie’s sweat-sheened skin, Jim pulled him closer and urged him on.

Artie finally jerked and came. Jim clutched at his shoulders as Artie thrust even deeper and then spilled inside him.  Jim held Artie close to keep him inside him and against him for a little longer.  Artie collapsed across Jim’s chest, breathing hard.  “Sorry,” he murmured, kissing Jim’s neck softly.  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Jim replied, holding him tight.  “Not in a way I didn’t want, anyway.”

Artie chuckled and stayed in Jim for as long as he could.  Jim knew it, but it was still too soon when he slipped out and padded away to find a damp cloth.

When Artie returned he had two cloths, which surprised Jim.  The first he used to clean Jim off, then himself, then put aside.  Artie lifted the other with a crooked smile and started to wipe the rest of the makeup off Jim’s face.  Between the satisfied lethargy he felt and the fond expression on Artie’s face, Jim wasn’t sure he could’ve been happier.  When Artie was done, Jim took the cloth from him and cleaned off some of the makeup that had gotten on Artie as they kissed.

This was accomplished in a silence that, content as he was, Jim was afraid to break.  With a sigh Artie sat down beside him and pulled Jim to his chest, idly tracing patterns on Jim’s back.  “I should get my book,” he remarked as Jim settled in.  “I’ve got another persona that I think we can put to bed once and for all.”

“What?” Jim asked, the lassitude of good sex dissipating enough for him to be suspicious, if not downright afraid.  Hadn’t they agreed-

“A retired actor and current secret service agent- who was maybe at one point something even less savory- who wasn’t in love with you.”  

Jim felt something warm blossom in his heart, and he smacked Artie’s arm lightly.  “You carried that one a little far, didn’t you?”  It was mostly a joke.  Jim _was_ annoyed with Artie for not having put him out of his misery a long time ago, but his friend- his lover, at last- wasn’t exactly alone in the wrong.  They’d both been hiding what they felt, and just because Jim had always assumed he’d been hiding it badly didn’t mean he’d been correct.  Artie must have been as unsure of his footing as Jim- if not more so.  Anyway, it served Jim right for falling for someone who lied so regularly. 

“Did I?”

Artie sat up, knocking Jim from his chest.  His face was unreadable, his tone virtually blank.  Under it, Jim realized that Artie legitimately regretted what he’d done and had been trying to cover it, as he always did, by turning it into a joke.  “It’s okay, Artie,” Jim whispered.

Reaching out, Artie cupped Jim’s cheek.  “How can it be?”

“Because we’re together now.”

“Yes,” Artie sighed in return.  “Yes, we are.  And now, I have to finish my report.”  He certainly looked much more sanguine about the prospect than he had earlier.  He grinned, taking Jim’s hand and kissing the knuckles before sweeping out.

Jim sat, smiling bewilderedly, for several moments after Artie departed.  Then he stood and glanced around.  He still didn’t see the dress, but at his feet he saw that lavender silk rose.  He picked it up off the floor and thought that sometime- maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but someday soon- he’d like to put on that dress again.  Oh, he hadn’t wanted to pretend to be someone else tonight any more than he’d wanted Artie to- not while they made love for the first time- but once things were a little better established… he already got so much from Artie while he was in disguise- he’d made friends and enemies and fallen in love with so many different versions of the man that he thought that if they both agreed to it a little playacting wouldn’t hurt either of them.

Jim surprised himself by thinking again of the fantasy he’d entertained earlier that evening, of having Kingston in his bed.  Maybe, if Artie was agreeable, the travelling player would make another appearance one day.  And perhaps Artie had a fantasy or two of his own to act out.  Jim’s mouth watered at the very thought, though he had no idea what kind of fantasies Artie might have.

Until Artie was willing to share them, Jim had only his own to contemplate.

Unbidden, the older fantasy still of pinning Artie against a table with that skirt bunched around his waist reasserted itself and Jim’s mouth went dry.  No, a little playacting definitely wouldn’t hurt- and honestly Jim had no objection whatsoever to be on either side of that image, though he could practically feel Artie writhing beneath him already.

Jim poked his head into the next car.  “Artie?” he called.  “When you’re done with that report- any chance you’d still be up for that game of cards?”

He couldn’t see Artie, and he waited in the beat of silence before, “I’m done now,” floated to his ears.


End file.
